


Graceless Under Pressure

by windscryer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, BAMF Peter, Bruce gets less than a cameo, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attack, Peter is Steve and Tony's Kid, Sam and Thor have a cameo, Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), Whump, and maybe never will be, avenging is scary business, because i suck at including more than four avengers, but i feel bad, handwavey villain, mild violence, peter is not an avenger, sorry Bruce, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windscryer/pseuds/windscryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter thought he'd be better at this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graceless Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennberry84 (tunes84)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunes84/gifts), [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/gifts).



> Warning for a character having a mild panic attack.
> 
> Prompted, betaed by, and keysmashed over by MuscialLuna. This is 100% her fault.
> 
> For Jenny because I know how you love some good superfamily and violence. ;D
> 
> Edit: UGH I forgot to check tenses and there was a whole section off. I fixed it, but I might have missed some, so please do let me know if it's wonky.

Peter's the one who finds them. Uncle Clint owes him fifty bucks.

He'd be a lot more excited about that, but, well, it's kind of a hollow victory. He'll actually be happy to get his ass chewed for betting again if it means that his dads are able to do so later.

He'll even joyfully take the lecture on what he was doing in the storm drains in the first place and why he wasn't waiting at home with Uncle Phil like a good son who knew his dads would worry about him being out.

Just… just as long as he can get it from both of them. The really good lectures come from both of them. It's just not the same otherwise.

"Dad," he whispers, and gives Steve's shoulder another shake. He's alive, Peter confirmed that already, hands shaking so badly he had to do some of Uncle Bruce's yoga breathing to calm down enough to be sure it was an actual pulse he felt. But alive is not awake, and Peter's getting more worried the longer it takes to get a response.

"Dad!" he repeats, voice breaking, and he immediately winces and ducks back into the shadow of the grate he'd crawled through to get here, holding his breath as he waits to see if he alerted anyone to his presence. Peter can't see or hear any guards or minions or anything, but he can't risk getting caught yet. No one knows where he is yet, or that he's found them.

He's planning to go back up to street level and report in, but he just… he needs something to report first. Something besides "I think they're alive?"

Uncle Phil appreciates a good report and Peter's going to give him one.

There's a soft groan and Peter's attention snaps back to the present, eyes locked on the dim light coming from what he thinks is the entrance to the room. The one for anyone bigger than a scrawny teenager who practices yoga and plays hide and seek in the ventilation system of the office building his family calls home anyway.

He can't hear anything or see anything that indicates that anyone is coming, so he dares to creep back out and place a hand on his dad's shoulder once more. "Dad?"

Steve stirs and his head lifts. He groans in pain and Peter thinks he can see his face scrunch, but the voice that speaks isn't his.

"Peter?"

He swallows thickly and glances at the door again before letting go of Steve's shoulder and planting careful fingertips on the wall above Steve's head. His movements are slow and his hands shake, but when he touches the wall he sticks, and his weight shifts easily. He's upside down and ready to scurry up into the deeper shadows by the ceiling at the first sign of danger, but he can see both of his dads now, can reach out and touch Tony's head.

It jerks under his fingers and he pulls back. "Sorry! Sorry!" His voice cracks and he winces.

Tony twists and cranes his neck, blinking furiously. It doesn't clear the blood running into his eyes from the cut just under his hairline, but he can't seem to stop.

"Peter?" he says again and Peter dares to creep down a little until he can rest his hand on his dad's shoulder.

"I'm here," he says, and it feels wrong.

It's like he's five years old and having a nightmare again and his dad's come in to tell him everything's okay and hug him until he falls asleep, but everything's backwards.

Tony makes a choking sound and Peter's not sure what's wrong. He gives the door another glance and then scuttles down, jumping and landing with a flip. It's in a puddle of water and he cringes at the splash, but no one comes running.

He crouches down at Tony's side and wraps his hand around his dad's neck, scanning him for injuries other than the head wound. There's a darkening ring around his eye and a split lip that bled into his goatee. His arms are scratched and there are dark spots that are either abrasions or bruises—or both—and it gets harder to breathe the more Peter looks, but he can't stop. Uncle Phil and the others needs to know how bad it is and he can't just take pictures. The light is shit down here and flash would definitely give him away.

Tony's hands are behind him and Peter doesn't immediately understand why, wrapping his fingers around Tony's bicep and tugging until it gets him a hiss and an, "Easy, kiddo, easy, that's not coming free right now."

Peter makes a little wounded sound in the back of his throat.

He knew that they didn't come here on their own, that someone _brought_ them here, and that it wasn't with an engraved invitation and a pretty please. The terrible state of his dad's face attests to that like nothing else, but somehow it's the fact that Tony's arms are bound behind him that really brings it all home to him.

He can't stop the reflexive way he collapses forward, burying his face against his dad's neck and snaking his arms around his chest.

Tony presses his cheek against Peter's head and shushes him, soothing him and saying, "It's okay. Hey now, it's okay, Peter. We're gonna be just fine."

Peter feels like an idiot. He silently berates himself for being a total pussy and orders himself to pull it together, but he just needs a moment to pretend. The respect he has for his dads for being as brave as they are skyrockets. How do they _do this?_

This isn't even that bad, no one's shooting at them, there are no portals to another part of the universe or massive creatures that can bite a skyscraper in half.

His dads are right, he's not ready. Maybe he never will be.

"Peter. _Peter_."

He sniffs noisily and then immediately freezes, harsh panting breaths loud against his dad's collarbone. He doesn't relax until Tony does.

"Come on, kid, you've done great so far, but you need to go."

Peter's arms tighten instinctively at the thought of leaving them here. He can't. The thought of staying terrifies him and he doesn't even know who's keeping them here. He just knows that if he leaves them, he might never see them again and that's just… He can't do it. He _can't._

"Peter, listen to me," his dad says. Peter wiggles a little, pressing an ear to his dad's chest, the combination of the muffled thump under the soft hum of the arc reactor as familiar to him as the strong and steady thump of Steve's heart.

Steve.

"Dad!" he barks, just barely smothering it to a harsh hiss.

"He's okay, too," Tony says. "Peter, He's fine, they gave him something, but they're not gonna kill us. They need us."

Peter stops, halfway crawled over Tony's lap and stops. "What for?" he asks, voice trembling. "What— Is it the serum? But you're not—"

"I don't know," Tony says. "I don't know. Maybe. No one's talking details. Doesn't matter really. The point is, they've been very careful to keep us alive. And they'll keep doing so. Not forever, but long enough for you to _go_ and bring back help. Something big and green maybe. A little thunder and lightning? It can be a bunch of assholes in suits for all I care, but I need you to go back and tell them where we are and then _stay there_."

Peter swallows, frozen in his crouch and looks between his dads.

"I mean it, Pete. Don't come back here. You did good, kid, I'm so proud of you. But I need you to stay in the Tower when they come back for us, okay?"

"Dad—"

Tony sighs, head falling back and his voice is tired. "Please don't argue with me on this, Peter. Please?"

It takes him a few long moments of looking down and breathing deeply, of swallowing the painfully tight knot in his throat and gritting his teeth against the urge to argue.

"Listen to your dad, Peter," a soft voice mumbles, and both Tony and Peter jump, heads snapping over toward Steve in synchronization.

"Steve?"

"Dad?"

"Hey, buddy," Steve says, cracking his eyes open and mustering up a smile as his head rolls to the side. His eyes close after a moment and his head tilts until he's leaning against Tony. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Tony says, nuzzling back against the temple pressed to his forehead. "How are you?"

Peter can't even be grossed out by the obvious sappiness. He's just so glad to see them both awake and alive and—

Steve hums and then turns to face Peter, one eye opening to peer at him. It's bloodshot and not entirely focused, but it's bouncing over his face.

"Dad," Peter says before his voice gives out. He shifts and leans forward, freeing the hand trapped between them to wrap around his shoulders and hug them both at once, clinging as his shoulders shake in silent, involuntary sobs.

"Hey," Steve whispers, then licks dry lips. "Hey. You did good, kid. You found us. God knows how, but you did."

Peter wants to explain, wants to tell them that it wasn't any special skill or smarts, he's just been searching every inch of the maze under the city. It's pure dumb luck he stumbled on them after only two days.

"Yeah he did," Tony says and he sounds so proud, Peter can't stand it. He doesn't deserve that. He didn't— If he was that good he'd have found them sooner.

He opens his mouth to say that, to force the words out, but there's the scrape of footsteps on wet concrete, echoing and ringing as they approach.

He sits bolt upright and twists, staring at the doorway, and then back at his dads. They're both tense now too, eyes locked behind him. Panic and fear are bleeding into their expressions and it's like a stab to the gut.

_He can't leave them like this._

"Peter," Steve whispers. "Peter, go."

"Go now," Tony adds. "Go _now_." He bucks, arms twisting as he grunts, like he can snap whatever's keeping them here and push Peter back through the hole he came in. "Get help. Send back the entire goddamn Helicarrier, just _go._ _Now!_ "

Peter resists up until that last barked command, nearly a broken plea. It's like the crack of a whip and he jumps to his feet.

He looks at them and drops back down, Tony and Steve both staring at him. Tony's breaths are coming short and Steve's writhing trying to break free.

"Peter, _go!"_ Tony pleads. "God, kid! Before they— Go!"

Peter wraps his arms around Tony's head in a quick hug, squeezing his eyes shut and praying it's not the last chance he gets to do so.

He repeats the hug with Steve, getting a soft, hurried, "I love you. Be careful. Be safe, Peter."

Then he's stretching and catching the rough wall under his fingertips and scrambling up and into the corner where the pipe lets into the room. It takes some wiggling and twisting because he goes in feet first.

He shouldn't, but he can't look away from them yet, both of them looking up though it's too dark to see him from where they are.

"Good luck, kiddo," Tony says, and Peter swallows and shoves himself back into the pipe, grabbing the grate he'd tagged with webbing and pulling it into place just as the footsteps enter the room.

"Hey, so, I'd like to talk to the concierge about your room service," Tony says. The man bends and backhands him. Peter would like to be able to give a description, maybe Uncle Phil will know who it is and that will be useful, but he's backlit from this angle and it's all shadows.

Steve glares and snarls. "I'll break a bone for every bruise you leave on his skin," he promises.

The bear of a man grunts in amusement and then grabs Tony's chin and tilts his head back. Water is poured from a bottle, but it's carelessly done and at least half of it splashes down his chest and into his nose. He chokes and coughs, snorting water, but can't break free until he's released with a shove. The same is repeated with Steve and Peter has to press a hand over his mouth to cover the whimper.

Steve leans into Tony who is panting and shaking, head bent as he coughs still.

Only when that dark head comes up and Peter can see the defiant glare on his father's face does he start inching backwards.

 _They'll be okay,_ he tells himself. _They've survived worse._

It's not much of a reassurance, but it's a helluva motivational mantra as Peter races for the surface.

o.o

He can't talk.

He gets the phone to his ear and he can hear Uncle Phil on the other end trying to calm him down, but he can't really understand what he's saying over the roaring in his ears.

He's babbling, and it's a mess. He can't even tell what he's trying to say, there's no way it's intelligible on the other end, but his voice won't cooperate.

The thought that he's making it worse, that he needs to just calm down and _tell them_ doesn't help.

He's almost sobbing with frustration and panic and and now he's attracting attention. He flinches away from the hand that touches his shoulder and only when he sees the woman jerk back does he realize he's on his knees on the sidewalk next to a corner deli.

He looks around in something like confusion, because this isn't where he came out, he can't even see the road that leads to the access tunnel.

The thought that he's lost, that he won't be able to lead them back jolts him like an electrical shock from Mjölnir itself.

Another hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches again, but this one stays, tightening and he looks up to see a cop. Someone called the cops and _fuck_ he's screwing it all up.

Thank god he left his suit behind. Being discovered because he's a sobbing mess in the street is not in his plans, like, _ever_.

Distantly he can hear Uncle Phil talking, still trying to get him to calm down, though he's stopped asking where Peter is and is just saying that he's sent help, that they're almost there.

It's when he sees the flash of red in the crowd and realizes he recognizes it that he's able to suck in a breath and regain some control.

By the time Aunt Nat and Uncle Clint are there—in regular clothes, not their uniforms—he's managed to suck in a few more breaths and he can feel the panic receding with every lungful of exhausty, rank New York air.

Aunt Nat talks to the cop and they get the crowd dispersed while Uncle Clint gets his hands under Peter's arms and lifts him to his feet.

They're smiling to the cop and making their way toward the car that pulls up at the curb. Uncle Thor is in shotgun, Uncle Sam in the driver's seat, and both are smiling, but Peter can see the worry in their expressions.

They're stopped when the cop bends to look Peter in the eye and asks him if he knows who these people are.

Peter would normally be grateful the cop is so determined to do his job and not let some poor panicking kid get kidnapped, but right now it's annoying because Peter thinks he remembers where the access tunnel was and the longer they take here the longer it will take to get back there.

"Yes, I— They're my uncles and aunt," he manages to say. "I promise, I'm not being kidnapped. They know the password," he says, and Clint dutifully says, "Galaga."

Peter nods rapidly. "Galaga. My dad's favorite video game. See? All good. Thank you, officer. Okay, bye now. Thanks."

He's loaded up and squished between Aunt Nat on the right and Uncle Clint on the left and as soon as they pull away, Peter says, "I know where they are. I— I found them."

Aunt Nat palms the side of his head and pulls him in for a kiss to his temple and says, "Yes, we got that much."

Uncle Clint pries the phone from Peter's white-knuckled grip and puts the call on speakerphone and says, "Tell us what you've got, spiderkid."

Peter can't even be mad at the nickname. He just sinks back into the seat, leaning into Aunt Nat's steady support.

"It's a tunnel— Or I think it might actually be a maintenance alcove or something, I'm not sure. And I'm…" He hesitates. "I'm going to need a map. It's northwest from here, but I'm not— A map of the storm drains would be easiest. I can show you how I got there."

"We'll have one waiting for you when you get back here," Uncle Phil promises. "What was their condition?"

Peter swallows. "Not good," he says quietly. "Dad— Tony's pretty banged up. He had a head injury— I'm not sure if he was concussed, but he seemed to be pretty aware of who I was and what was going on? Steve was unconscious for most of it. D— Tony said they were giving him something, he didn't know what. But he thinks they're being kept alive for something? They were given water right before I left, so, I mean, they must… I don't know." His breath shortens as his chest tightens. "They were tied up somehow. I don't— I don't know how. Hands behind their backs. Um. Maybe feet, too?" He frowns and tries to recall, but he's just not sure.

"Do you think they'll be able to help get themselves out?" Clint asks. "Can they walk or do we need to take in boards?"

"I think they can walk?" Peter said. "They were— They might need, like, help, but I think— They didn't look _that_ bad. Unless they're worse. Dad was being mouthy," he confesses.

There's more than one sound of amusement and/or resignation at that, but Uncle Clint's arm snugs around his shoulders and pulls him in close.

"Your dad's a smartass, but he's a survivor too. They're gonna be just fine," he says.

Peter can feel the exhaustion of the post-adrenaline crash hitting him and he sighs. "I hope so," he says as his eyes close for just a moment.

"We'll make sure of it," Aunt Nat promises, and then says something quietly to Uncle Phil, but Peter's drifting off before he can figure out what.

He's asleep before they turn the next corner.

o.o

It's been three hours since he left the tunnel and he's staring down the black hole of it again and hoping he doesn't end up puking. Not just because he's got a comm this time and all of the Situation Room would be able to hear him lose his cookies.

His nausea is only made worse by the guilt curdling in his gut. Dad had very specifically told him to stay at the Tower—and he hadn't wanted to, but he'd been prepared to. But the room, hell, the entire section of tunnels, wasn't on the map. There wasn't anything there when Peter had retraced his steps on the glowing blue lines.

He knew it wasn't wrong, knew he wasn't confused, and thank God Uncle Phil believed him.

But because of that, they needed some help getting there. Which led to Peter standing here now.

The rest of the team was staged closer to the end point already. They'd be taking the Hulk Express route once he was in place to guide them.

He just has to get there and give them a target to aim for.

"They're already proud of you," Uncle Phil says, stepping up and clapping Peter's shoulder. Peter turns to look at him and the small smile he gets helps settle some of the churning in his stomach. "But go remind them why."

Peter nods, sucking in a breath and blowing it out, fingers wiggling in anticipation.

He looks back at the strike team of SHIELD agents who would be following him in as far as they could for support. He nods to Agent May and she nods back, then gestures.

That's the cue to move and Peter leads the way into the darkness once more.

o.o

It actually seems to take longer this time to get there, and he's half afraid he's gotten lost, but the sound of his uncles and aunt chatting in his ear help calm him down when the panic threatens to overwhelm him again.

He can do this.

He reaches the right angle bend in the pipe he was crammed into and blinks, then huffs in relief. This is it. He isn't lost.

He wiggles and contorts himself around the bend and then shuffles forward as fast as he can, hoping any sounds he makes are attributed to a rat or something. He pauses twenty feet away and reaches up to tap the bud in his ear.

"I'm here."

"Acknowledged," Uncle Phil says into the sudden silence. "Confirm packages."

Peter breathes out, a soft, "Roger," and then continues on. The grate is stuck even more firmly this time, his webbing having congealed and hardened. When it finally pops out it goes flying and only a quick shot of webbing stops it from announcing his arrival and blowing the whole element of surprise. It very nearly breaks his nose when he jerks it back and it comes flying at his face.

"Peter?" Steve hisses and then a groggy, "Wha'sat?" follows.

"Shhh," Steve says. "Peter's back."

Peter hunches his shoulders at the disapproval in his dad's tone, but he keeps crawling, out and down the wall, landing with barely a sound this time as he avoids the puddles.

He has a headlamp now and it illuminates the scene in harsh white light. It is not actually a good thing, Peter decides as he swallows a rush of nausea.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" Steve asks. He sounds exhausted, and Peter can totally understand that. He looks like he's had the shit beaten out of him. Tony looks worse.

"I—" He remembers suddenly and reaches up, tapping at his ear. "Both packages are present," he reports. "But they're— They're worse. Dad's— He's—"

"He'll be fine," Steve says, but it isn't as filled with conviction as Peter would prefer. "Who do you have there?"

"Uncle Phil," Peter says, then drops to his knees and digs the bud out. "Here. You— You can explain." He presses it into Steve's ear, hand hovering until Steve nods.

"Phil?" Steve says, then relaxes at whatever reply he gets.

Peter tunes out the rest of the conversation in favor of scooting over to Tony. He doesn't understand half of what they're saying anyway and he needs to make sure Dad is really— God, he looks so bad.

The black eye is now well and truly swollen shut, the blood trickle from his head a bigger mess than before. It's slowing again, but that it hasn't stopped by now is worrisome. His hands are bound in front of him, and not even very tightly, a pair of handcuffs circling his wrists. That isn't good news since his left hand sits at an awkward angle, cradled in his right hand and both tucked up against his chest. It partially obscures the light of the arc reactor that shines out through the shredded remains of his shirt. At least that's still bright and strong, Peter notices gratefully.

There's a dark spot on the calf of Tony's jeans and his belt has been cinched around his thigh just above the knee. Peter swallows and reaches for it, but pulls back before he makes contact.

"Dad?" he says softly. "Oh god."

"Hey."

The soft word draws Peter's eyes up to where Tony's watching him through one hooded eye.

"Come here," his dad beckons and Peter hesitates. "Come on. You're so grounded for coming back, but as long as you're here I'm cold and you're a mini-furnace like your father, so come on."

Peter snorts a wet laugh and carefully inches forward, situating himself on his dad's left side and wrapping his arms around him. Tony's right hand comes up to lightly grip his forearm, his head turning toward Peter's.

"Thought I told you to stay at the Tower," he mutters.

"This place isn't on the city plans," Peter says. "I couldn't— I had to lead them back. But they're coming. I'm not alone. They'll be here any minute."

"Less than that," Steve interjects and pushes to his knees with a grunt. He shuffles around until his back is to the door and then bends forward over the two of them. He sucks in a breath, then says, "We're ready, Hawkeye."

Peter's eyes widen and then his grip tightens on Tony as he hunches down and in.

Three sharp breaths pass before a roar shakes the entire room and vibrates his bones in his skin.

Smaller bursts of sound follow, little explosions and gunshots that are occasionally overshadowed by more roaring from Hulk. They get closer with every second and then there are running footsteps.

"How did they find you?!" a furious voice demands as the huge man from before enters the room at a run.

Peter peeks up and his eyes meet the man's own wide gaze.

"Where the hell did you come from?" the man snarls.

Peter lifts his hand and fires off a blast of webbing at the man's face, sending him reeling back through the open doorway.

There is the sound of a collapsing wall and then a shriek of terror that ends with a wet thump.

Peter turns and buries his face against Tony's shoulder, shaking with adrenaline. He knows they're safe, he trusts Uncle Clint and Aunt Nat and Uncles Thor and Sam and even Hulk, but this wasn't like playing tag in the practice room, or even sparring in the gym.

It's fucking _terrifying_.

"I got 'em!" Uncle Clint shouts from nearby and Peter dares to look and sees him in the doorway, his uniform covered in muck in a few places, his hair spiked and wet, and his bow in his hands, half drawn. He releases the pressure and replaces the arrow as he crosses the floor toward them. "Everyone okay?" he asks.

Steve straightens and says, "Peter?"

Peter nods quickly, slowly uncurling and sitting up.

"We're okay," Steve says, relief thick in his voice.

Clint bends down behind Steve and a moment later he grunts and brings his hands forward.

The first thing they do is cup Peter's face and then slide to his neck, ghosting over his skin before he's pulled into a rib-crushing hug.

"You had me so worried, kid," Steve breathes into his hair. A broad hand sweeps up and down his back and Peter just ducks his head and leans into the hug.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I had to do it, I don't regret it, but I'm sorry."

Steve huffs and pulls back to smack a kiss on his forehead. "I know. Thank you."

Peter nods and wipes a hand over his stupid leaking eyes and sniffling nose.

There must not be much resistance out in the other rooms because the noise dies down pretty quickly. Aunt Nat and Uncle Sam show up next, a half dozen SHIELD agents behind them, some with medical bags.

They swarm into the room at Aunt Nat's order and then Peter's being tugged out of the way so they can get to Tony and Steve.

Uncle Clint keeps his arm around Peter's shoulders and squeezes every now and again.

"You did well," Aunt Nat says, coming to join them.

Peter dredges up a smile. "Thanks." He watches the medics poke and prod and Tony comes back to awareness and starts complaining under their care.

Peter pushes a hand through his hair and grimaced at the gross feel of crap that got smeared there from the tunnels he had crawled through. "Thanks for letting me help," he continues, "but if it's all the same to you… maybe I'll do like my dads say and wait until I'm a little older before I join the team officially."

Uncle Clint chuckles and Aunt Nat smiles. "We'll save you a place."

Tony is loaded up on a stretcher and carried out, but Steve is still mobile. Peter wiggles his way through and tuckes himself under his dad's arm. "I got this," he tells the medic.

They follow the procession out and both keep quiet until they're in the sunshine again.

Steve turns his face up and inhales, basking in the warmth of the evening glow. Then he bends and presses another kiss to Peter's head.

Peter just tucks himself in closer and savors it.

Until Uncle Clint steps in front of them, a folded bill between his fingers and a smirk on his face. “Almost forgot this. Good job.”

Peter takes the money and frowns, then his eyes fly wide and he chokes on an excuse or maybe a denial or what he doesn't know.

“Gotta help with clean up. See you guys back at the Tower,” Uncle Clint says and vanishes into the crowd.

“Peter?” Steve says. “What's that for?”

“Um. Nothing?”

Steve's eyebrows rise, then fall into a scowl as understanding hits him. “Peter, what have we told you about betting with your Uncle Clint?”

“That if I'm careful it could pay for college?”

Steve tries to stay stern, but he ends up huffing a laugh and side-hugging Peter again.

“We're going to talk about this when your dad is off painkillers and able to hold a coherent conversation.”

Peter sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

“And after we've discussed how you came into the sewers to find us and then came _back_ after we specifically told you not to.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “So I should cancel my date with Gwen this weekend while we wait for him to wake up?”

Steve thinks about that and the longer he considers, the more Peter knows he isn't going to like what the outcome is.

“No, I don't think we have to go that far.”

“Really?” Peter says brightly. Then he squints. “Wait, why?”

Steve smiles his best press smile, the one that Director Fury makes him trot out when people are questioning whether or not the Avengers were more trouble than they were worth. It's not reassuring in the slightest.

“You're going to text her and let her know that whatever plans you did have are being switched up for a nice family dinner.”

“Oh God,” Peter says.

“ _All_ of the family.”

“Oh God why,” he whimpers.

“And if we're having company over, the house is going to need to be cleaned. Top to bottom.”

Peter silently vows to never again gamble with anything less than his life.

 


End file.
